25 Bombs Fell: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Series, 25BF Season 1

by A. K. Meek

  Nate found Will’s name, close to the top of the list. He took his pen from his pocket and drew a neat, single line through his name.

  A teardrop spattered the page, blurring the ink underneath. He closed the book with its wrinkled cover and its filthy pages, and tucked it back in his pocket.

  About fifteen minutes later the first small speck appeared in the sky. A couple more minutes and another speck joined it. The specks circled each other as they descended.

  A few more minutes and their wings could be seen, extending out, flapping occasionally for a burst of flight. The two vultures rode the thermal currents, inspecting the area, making sure. They continued the downward spiral and landed a few feet away from Will’s body.

  One looked about while the other flapped its wings and hopped over to his body.

  Nate and Henry turned and walked into the trees, headed back to the group.

  No one would understand unless they had been there.

  “Hey, it’s Nate and Henry.”

  Desmond intercepted them, as he was on patrol. He led the two back to the rest who waited for them.

  Desiree, Desmond’s sister, swung from a low branch and, seeing the three approach, let go and ran to them. She hugged Desmond, then moved to Nate’s waist and hugged him.

  “I heard you buried Will, but not really buried. What did you do?” she said.

  Nate rubbed her head. Her thick, coarse hair was piled on top, a disheveled mess.

  “He’s gone now. Is there any jerky left?”

  “I’ll go check.” She took off through the trees, looking for Melanie, who handled food rationing.

  “You made it back,” Bruce said as he came from a cluster of people, Ed by his side. The rest turned to him. “So you took care of his body?”

  “Will’s gun,” Nate said. “Why are you wearing his pistol?”

  “Oh, this.” Bruce pointed to the holster strapped to his leg. “It’s not Will’s gun. He’s dead, remember. It’s my nine. The leader’s nine mil.”

  “What’re you talking about? There was no vote.”

  “You’re wrong. There was a vote. You and Henry weren’t here for it. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were. I still got the majority votes.”

  “How can you, this isn’t—”

  “Nate,” Charles said, stepping away from the rest. “He’s been elected. He’s our leader.”

  “Listen to the old man,” Bruce said, “he knows his place. This is my group now.” He walked back to the small group and his wife, Amber, went to him and gave him an embarrassingly long kiss. Their daughter Paige played in the dirt nearby.

  “I’m gonna go congratulate our new leader,” Henry said. He went to Bruce and slapped him on the back and shook his hand.

  “Charles, what happened?” Nate said, the anger rising in him like a tsunami getting ready to crash on the shore. So soon after Will’s death.

  “An ambush,” Charles said. “He caught everyone off-guard. As soon as you left, he, Ed, and Melanie pushed for a vote. Before I realized what was going on, most everyone else joined them, demanding a vote. They always want a king to tell them how to live.

  “There was no opposition, especially after the gunfight. He went with Will to draw the tank fire. Then in the shelter, the door he kept closed. And he’s right; your vote wouldn’t have mattered. The people forget what they don’t see. You weren’t here.”

  Nate shook his head. It all seemed so wrong that Bruce was now in charge, but not many others saw it. Bruce kept the door in the shelter locked because he wanted to protect himself. He wasn’t concerned with the rest. Nate knew that because that’s how he had felt at that time.

  Bruce also never saw the tank, never drew its fire away from the group, to protect the group. Another lie.

  Nate knew that for a fact, because he’d seen it, the only one to see it up close. It was no tank, but a war machine unlike anything he’d ever seen, or imagined. But could he convince the others about Bruce, that he was the last person to be leading the group?

  He had to start with others who weren’t thrilled with his becoming president.

  “How many didn’t vote for him?” Nate said.

  “Just a few of us,” Charles said.

  “Give me all the names.”

  04.01

  ARNEY

  The next day Bruce assigned Nate to mule duty.

  Maybe he thought that the demotion from soldier to mule, effectively taking away Nate’s rifle, would show him who was in charge.

  But in truth, Nate didn’t mind giving up his M-16 one bit because of how comfortable it had become in his hands. He, a city boy from Atlanta who had never touched a gun—a rifle—in his life, had over the last few days become a warmonger.

  At least in his mind.

  Too often he’d thought of using it to solve problems. That definitely wasn’t a good way to settle issues.

  Plus, mule duty gave him a good opportunity to talk to others.

  “Are you coming?” Feleysa said, not trying too hard to hide her annoyance with him. She slowed as the rest of the group, the twenty-five, continued through the trees.

  Bruce had appointed Ed as scout, replacing Nate, and he now led the group through twisting woods in the Georgian twilight.

  “I’m fine,” Nate replied, waving his arm forward. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” He bent over, acting like he was digging a rock from one of his boots.

  With a huff of ire Feleysa left him and jogged into the overgrowth, following the rest.

  Juan, who was on rear guard, walked by him and slowed. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Hold up a second.”

  “Sure.”

  Nate stood and looked around to make sure no one else was near. He turned to Juan. “Enoch told me you didn’t vote for Bruce yesterday.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “I don’t think he’s the best to lead us.”

  Juan chuckled. “Me neither. That’s why I didn’t vote for him. There’s something about him that, well, there’s something about him.”

  Nate nodded. He could tell Juan wanted to say more, but didn’t. He needed to convince him that they were on the same side.

  The twenty-five moved deeper into the thick of trees. He needed to hurry before someone came back to look for them.

  “There was no tank,” Nate said.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday, when we were attacked. It wasn’t a tank.”

  But Juan’s face didn’t quite register anything he said. “But Bruce said he saw one. Did you see it? How come you didn’t say anything?”

  “I did see it. It wasn’t a tank. It was some sort of mech.”

  “Mex? You mean Mejicano, like me?”

  “What? No. Not Mexican—mech, like a mechanized unit. A robot soldier, only twenty feet tall.” Nate stretched one arm upward, like that would give an accurate scale to the unit. “It had guns for hands.”

  “But I thought it was a tank.” Juan’s face still showed he was having a difficult time registering all of it.

  “That’s what’s bothering me,” Nate said. “It wasn’t a tank. Bruce is lying. I think he’s been lying about many things.”

  The others had disappeared into the forest. The two needed to get back to them.

  Nate picked up his pack. “We need to talk more. I need to get together with Charles and Enoch soon. Come on, let’s go.”

  They rushed through the forest to catch up with the twenty-five as the first drops of rain pitter-pattered on the uppermost tree leaves.

  The rain tasted acidic and Nate wanted to keep the foul liquid from his mouth. He spit and clamped his lips tight to keep any more from entering.

  His mind raced with thoughts of nuclear fallout eating him from the inside out. Maybe it was contaminated, or maybe the thought was only his overactive imagination.

  Either way, he wiped his mouth and pulled the strip of plastic over his head, tucking the corners of it into his chemjacket collar. A
makeshift hoodie.

  Throughout the day, the rain slowly strengthened, so that by afternoon, treetops wilted under the steady downpour.

  Nate checked his watch. Time for the night patrol. He wondered who Bruce would send out. After hauling a backpack for the past five hours, Nate would welcome a change.

  He worked through the rain, mud, and wet trees toward Bruce’s lean-to. The leader had ordered Desmond and Juan to set up his tent, but they conveniently couldn’t find his poles and ropes and were still searching for them. So he, his wife, and his daughter had to settle for a lean-to for the time being.

  “Hey, Nate,” Feleysa said as he passed by her, “any word on when this rain will stop?” Clear plastic sheeting covered her body as she pushed against a tree, its large branches helping her stay out of the worst of the weather.

  Nate stopped, but not because he wanted to spend time with her. “No, but don’t drink any rain water; it might be contaminated.”

  “Contaminated—how do you know that?”

  “I don’t. I’m just speculating, since our country has been nuked. Radiation has to fill the sky.”

  “Do you really think so? Can it contaminate us?” She looked up to the sky, then pulled her sheeting tight over her head.

  Water seeped inside Nate’s left boot, soaking his thin sock. His toes were cold.

  Several feet away, Efrem and Jordana huddled close together on a stump, clutching each other. They watched him.

  A large plastic canopy tied between four trees bowed under the weight of the rain that it captured. Yvonne and Reginald Lewis sat underneath the canopy while their children Desmond and Desiree worked to route the water to the edge before it brought the covering down.

  All fought to stay out of the rain, to stay dry, but were unsuccessful. Their hope rested in such flimsy objects as tarps and leaves—their hope to stay dry, stay safe, stay alive.

  Hope could hinge on a tarp, or on an action, or on a simple word.

  Nate removed his makeshift hoodie from his head and lifted it to the sky, drinking in the foul-tasting rain. “See, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  Feleysa glanced up to the rain-filled sky. “Contaminated.” She laughed. “You’re such a nut.” She began to whistle a tune as she went to help the Lewis kids with their sagging plastic sheet.

  Nate started to pull the hoodie back over his head but then stopped. He tucked it into one of his pockets and continued on his way to Bruce’s shelter.

  Bruce, Henry, and Martin stood underneath the lean-to. Amber sat on a blanket with Paige in her arms. Arney stood in the rain, arms over his head, covering himself from the downpour.

  Martin swung his arms in the air, pointing to the drenched Arney. “You want to take him out scouting?”

  “He needs to do his share around here,” Bruce said. He casually whittled on a gnarled stick. “He’s been babied enough. With Will dead we need another soldier.”

  “You’re taking Arney to go scouting with you?” Nate said. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. Should Arney, who could only just tie his own shoes on his best day, be given a rifle?

  Bruce glared at him. “Yeah, I am. You got a problem with it?”

  “But him?” Martin said. He turned to Arney and pointed at nothing in particular. “Go stand over there.”

  Arney walked ten feet more into the rain, arms still over his head.

  “You trust him with a rifle?” Martin said.

  “I’ve been working with him for a few days. That’s my job as leader.”

  “Let him take Arney, he needs to grow up,” Amber said as she brushed her daughter’s hair with her fingers.

  “Arney, come here,” Bruce said. “Martin, give me your rifle.” He didn’t wait for Martin to hand it over, but snatched it from his hands and released the magazine, inspected it, and slapped it back into the rifle.

  With Bruce’s wave, Arney rushed over to him. Bruce pushed the rifle into Arney’s hands.

  “Remember what I told you about this. How to use it.”

  “I think so,” Arney said. He took the rifle and held it in the same manner that Nate did when he first took hold of one.

  Bruce unholstered his 9mm and checked it.

  “Hey, boss, want me to come?” said Henry, who had been silent up till now, watching the drama unfold like it was a cheap television show.

  “Uhm, yeah, okay,” Bruce said. “We need to go, c’mon.”

  Nate stepped forward. “Bruce, I don’t think Arney should go.”

  “Listen, Nate, I’ve put up with your undermining attitude long enough. I’m the leader, I’m in charge. If you don’t like that I don’t care. You can leave whenever you want. You’re lucky I don’t kick you out.” Bruce pulled his raincoat over his head and stepped from the relatively dry lean-to. “Arney, come on.”

  He scrambled after Bruce, M-16 clutched in a bear hug. Henry followed them.

  The three disappeared into the night.

  “They’ll be fine,” Amber said. “Bruce is smart. He knows what he’s doing. Personally, I think you’re jealous of him being leader.”

  Wanting to respond but choosing to bite his tongue, Nate walked away from her to the edge of the encampment, to see if he could catch a last glimpse of them. But they’d already disappeared into the trees, hidden by the fading light and driving rain.

  04.02

  A STEADY RAIN

  “Nate, you awake?” Juan said.

  “Yeah.” Nate awoke to Juan gently shaking his shoulder.

  He peeled his head off the plastic-covered leaf bed. His cheek burned, the victim of a stray buckle on his backpack, his pillow.

  “Bruce, he hasn’t returned. None of them have.”

  Nate detected a slight quiver in his voice.

  “What? Oh.” Nate checked his watch. “I guess I slept longer than I planned.”

  The rain had diminished as the night wore on. By eleven-thirty, it had subsided to casual drops, no more than a large oak’s shaking morning dew from leaves. Everything in the forest was soaked.

  After waiting two hours for the scouts to return, Nate decided to rest himself, just for a moment. That moment turned to a couple of hours.

  Several yards away, two lanterns appeared out of the darkness. Three men staggered toward the group. They drew closer, silhouettes filling in with features.

  “It’s Bruce,” Juan said.

  Martin and Charles each had their arms around him, supporting his weight. Bruce’s legs dragged along the ground, taking an occasional step.

  Wet, slimy mud covered him from head to toe, clinging to him. His round chest heaved mightily as he gulped in air.

  A lantern under Bruce’s lean-to lit. Amber fumbled with the light, turning it up. Paige stirred, but didn’t wake. “Bruce, where’s Bruce?” she said.

  The two men sat him on Amber’s pallet as he coughed and spat.

  Nate ran over to the leader’s sleeping area. “What happened? Where’s Arney and Henry?”

  Bruce took a deep breath and coughed. “The stream, he fell in the stream.” He pointed in its direction as if the stream could be seen from there. “It’s swollen from the rain. The bank’s soft. Arney wanted to see it. Fell in.”

  “How far?”

  “About a half mile. Maybe more.”

  Nate grabbed the lantern from Charles’ hand and ran in the direction of Bruce’s gesture.

  “Hey, I’m coming too,” Juan said as he grabbed Martin’s lantern. He followed Nate into the misty night.

  As he rushed through the forest, Nate noticed that the after-rain atmosphere held a freshness he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Despite the thoughts of radiation-poisoned air and Arney missing, he took in a deep breath of fresh, clean air.

  “Where we headed to?” Juan said. He passed Nate as they dodged trees, and now Nate was following him.

  “I’m not sure but we—wait, what’s that?”

  They both stopped and listened.

  “Sounds like water,�
�� Nate said, “rushing water. The river.”

  They ran several more yards toward the sound. Within a minute they closed in on a raging river.

  But the river appeared more like a stream that had overflowed after hours of a deluge. Fresh earth along the crooked edges crumbled as swift water raced away on its course downstream.

  “Arney!” Nate yelled as he looked up and down the river.

  Juan joined him in calling for the missing man. He ran several yards up and down stream.

  After a long hour the two weary searchers sat on a recently uprooted tree close to the water’s edge. As the night deepened, it became more difficult to stay a safe distance from the soft, widening edges.

  There was no point in continuing to call for Arney. The stream that was a river roared, washing earth and rock away. If Arney had fallen in, he wouldn’t have been able to make it out. No one would’ve made it out of that river.

  “Nate? Juan? Where are you?”

  “It sounds like Henry.” Juan stood and waved his lantern high above his head. “Over here,” he called out.

  Shortly Henry stumbled from the trees and tripped on a tree root. He slammed to the wet earth and cursed as his rifle smacked against a tree trunk.

  Nate helped him to his feet. “You okay?”

  “I’m alright. Stupid roots. Where’s Bruce and Arney? I’ve been looking for them for hours.”

  “Bruce is back at camp. He lost Arney. We were looking for him.”

  “Lost him? What do you mean?”

  “He said Arney fell into the river. I was hoping you could tell me what happened.”

  Henry pointed with his rifle barrel. “Bruce sent me upstream once we came to this swollen creek. I went up, he and Arney went downstream. I got disoriented, lost.” He started toward the river. “Fell in, huh?”

  “I’m not so sure,” Nate said.

  “You’re not so sure,” Henry said.

  Nate would’ve expected Henry to ask that question, but it didn’t come from his mouth like a question. He wondered if Henry had the same doubts about Bruce.